


Sunflowers

by thepointoftheneedle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, The desk one, Writer Jughead Jones, psychologist Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointoftheneedle/pseuds/thepointoftheneedle
Summary: Betty and Jug use the same co-working space.  He thinks she's superficial but she bakes a great cupcake.  Maybe he's too quick to judge.  And there's a mid-century design classic desk...now what can they use that for?
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 44
Kudos: 139
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Jug's book is called "Bluejays and Cardinals" which is actually a song by The Mountain Goats. Here are the parts of the lyric that inspired this silly little bit of fluff.
> 
> Bluejays and cardinals all come out to play  
> Highway traffic gets out of your way  
> Skies clear up if they're overcast.  
> Pit bulls are gentle when you come past.  
> Stars come out of hiding for you  
> And I would too...  
> New sheen all over everything  
> When you open up your mouth to sing.  
> Baseballs travel further when you watch them fly.  
> Apples fatten on the trees when you walk by.  
> You bring something unreplaceable to each and every day...

“She was just there at my desk. Laptop out, covered in stupid stickers like an eighth grader. She’d even put one of those dumb dancing sunflowers out. On my…my… goddamn desk.” He was tripping over his words a little now, so irate that he was losing the power to bemoan his fate which was, as Veronica knew, one of his favourite things to do.

Veronica looked up at him, freeing her manicurist from the intimidating scrutiny that she brought to every appointment.

“But I thought it was hot desking or fly desking or whatever it’s called. How is it even your desk?”

“I always sit there. In the corner. No-one else wants it because it’s the furthest from the ridiculous break out space and the coffee machine.” 

“I don’t really get why you’re so upset Torombolo. Is she a pretty girl? Is that what’s made you all hot and bothered?” 

“Jeeze Veronica. Just because you’re enslaved to your libido doesn’t mean I’m some sort of priapic hound dog. God. Anyway are we going for lunch or what? Or do you need to be shellacked some more?”

He was changing the subject because she had been, as a matter of fact, a very pretty girl. Neat, well groomed, modest and cheerful, like the kind of elementary school teacher you wish you’d had. She’d been exactly the type to absolutely hate him on sight. So he would take that attraction and put it in a trash can, throw in a match, close the lid, nail it shut, bury it in a pit a hundred feet deep and make a careful effort to forget it ever existed. 

He’d barely set foot through the door after lunch when Kevin, the office space manager, was coming over to him, clearly intent on having some kind of conversation. Oh good, “a chat.” Was it bad that even his internal monologue was sarcastic now? 

“Hi Jughead. Good afternoon. I just thought I’d introduce you to Betty. She’s new and guess what? She’s a writer too. So you’ll have lots in common. I’m sure you’ll be able to talk her through the whole vibespace of our little community won’t you? Hey Betty, this is Jughead who I was telling you about. Our other “Shakespeare”, if you will. So exciting to have creatives joining us.”

Jug stood slightly behind Kevin earnestly wishing that he had been run over by a cab on his way back from lunch. He could have been tucked up in the back of an ambulance right now instead of enduring this torture. He was clearly going to be expected to engage in chitchat with the desk coloniser. He had absolutely no small talk and it would take two minutes tops for her to feel uncomfortable in his presence and make some lame excuse to get away from him. Later he’d overhear her in the kitchen area, laughing and telling some douche in a suit that he was a weirdo and she hadn’t known how to get away from him quickly enough. 

From the get go he had felt out of place in what Kevin kept insisting was a co-working space rather than an office, but then he generally felt out of place so it wasn’t a new sensation. He would have preferred to be at home in the apartment he shared with Archie and increasingly with Veronica but Archie and his collaborator, Val, were writing new songs there. If he had to hear the same sentimental riff for the billionth time he’d go crazy and take to their guitars and keyboards with the set of expensive chef’s knives that Veronica had insisted they needed in the kitchen. Why they needed them to eat take out Chinese food and pizza was beyond him but Archie was whipped and just nodded like he agreed as usual. At the apartment he had been able to write in comfort, that is to say in his boxers and hat; here he had to be fully dressed all the time. At the apartment when a phrase just wouldn’t go right he could stomp about and yell “Fucking fuck the fucking fucker,” until he felt better. Here he just had to sit quietly until the right words arrived. He’d tried working in a coffee shop but he felt obliged to keep buying coffee and by the end of the day he was so twitchy and nervous that he’d needed a few drinks to stop his heart racing. That was not a road he wanted to explore. He’d thought about the library but that had the opposite problem to the coffee shop in that he had to pack up all his gear whenever he wanted coffee or sustenance. He did need to keep pretty well fuelled throughout the working day so the proximity of the kitchen area and the vending machines, or as Kevin called it the “self service micro mart”, was a real advantage. There were fancier co-working spaces with restaurants, design labs and tech support but all he needed was access to chips, coffee, wifi and a power source so the refurbished industrial building in DUMBO at the cheaper end of the market was perfectly adequate. The main drawback was just that everyone kept being friendly in order help him become an integrated member of the community. It was like they were pod people, eager to subsume him into their number. He didn’t play well with others and anyway he already had a community. He had Archie. He was prepared to accommodate the addition of Veronica because she loved Archie, helped Jug look out for him and because she was intelligent and amusing and especially because she tolerated him. There were other people for whom he would, simply and without question, lay down his life even if they rarely saw each other or spoke. His dad, his sister, his friends Sweetpea and Fangs. That was what community was about, not pretending to care if Lisa and Brad had worked through their issues or Donnie was buying a house with Amanda. He didn’t give a fuck about these people, they didn’t give a fuck about him. What purpose could be served by them all pretending to care? So free coffee and wifi, yes please, but fake ass community bullshit and “vibespaces” got a hard nope from Jughead Jones.

So now the pretty blonde was looking at him curiously while Kevin told her that he was a novelist, that he worked in the “creation space” five days a week and that they would definitely be the best of friends. “Well I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I expect you’ll be collaborating in no time. That’s what we’re all about, networking, creative partnerships.”

“Yep, we’ll be a regular Stratford-on-Odeon by the end of the week,” Jug muttered, expecting his reference to fall on stony ground as usual.

“The Algonquin Round Table of the twenty twenties,” she responded to his surprise.

As always he couldn’t stop himself from taking the joke too far like a smartass. “Inklings in NYC.”

“The Brooklyn Bloomsbury Group,” she countered.

“The Factory in a factory,” he snapped back.

“The Dill Pickle Club in DUMBO,” she responded with a note of triumph. 

Despite himself he laughed. “OK I’m out. You win.”

Kevin looked between them in some confusion really not understanding what just happened but not being interested enough to ask. He disappeared to his open plan “hub base” to try to look busy and important in case the building owner dropped by.

“So, what he said.” Jug was going for amiable but it was a reach for him. “If you need help with the “vibespace” let me know. Or you could ask someone who knows what the hell a vibespace is.”

“OK thanks. Oh by the way, Kevin thinks that writer means novelist but I’m strictly non fiction. Much less interesting I’m afraid.” She glanced across the papers laid out on the desk, on his desk and Jughead supposed that was the sign that she was bored by him.

“OK, well, I’d better let you get back to work then.” He essayed a smile which he feared was probably a mistake and saw her swallow hard before returning it. So yeah, it had definitely been creepy. He strode over to the opposite corner of the office to his second choice of desk, noting the way that she straightened her shoulders and glanced at the dumb dancing sunflower before turning her attention to her screen. 

He avoided her like he avoided everyone. They couldn’t be more different he told himself. Even though he wrote fiction he was devoted to the truth. He wanted to show his readers the cold hard reality of life through his stories, never to write some wish-fulfilment fantasy that reassured them that the status quo was fine and they were good people. He wrote dark stories that challenged his fans to examine themselves and do better. Fortunately there were enough people who would pay to have some righteous anger laid on them and it made him a decent living. He kept a little of the money and gave away a lot, really not caring about buying a house or getting the products the ads told him would show he was a success. She was clearly one of those girls who lived in a dream world of rainbows and kittens. He smirked to himself one day when he saw that her sweater had a cat stitched into it. She had a pair of neat, new looking chucks to match every outfit, the clean white laces tied in a neat bow. The stickers on her laptop were rainbows and flowers. He had just the Woody Guthrie legend “This machine kills fascists” on his. His clothes were grey and black, hers were pink and yellow and baby blue. She clearly turned away from the darkness in the world whereas he stared long into the abyss, letting it stare back into him. When he heard her giggling with Kevin in the breakout space he’d snort because it proved she was superficial. When he saw the dancing sunflower emerge from her bag he’d shake his head just a little. He tried to repress the suspicion that he was protesting too much.

He timed his lunch as other people were finishing theirs so he didn’t have to interact. He made coffee when he saw that the other caffeine addicts were supplied so he didn’t have to offer to make one for anyone else. He let her have his favourite desk so that he didn’t have to talk about it. In the evenings he went home and listened to whatever Archie had managed to create that day. He tried to appreciate Archie’s music but it had a tendency to reveal his friend’s hidden shallows. The lyrics were especially terrible, “Your dress was backless when you left me in the club with my sadness.” Jug sometimes had to cough or pretend to choke on a slice of pizza to cover his laughter. It didn’t matter anyway, a buff guy singing breakup songs in his tender voice made girls quiver. They adored him and bought tickets wherever he performed. Veronica was acting as his manager these days in addition to the day job as a corporate tax attorney and she was his defender against the oestrogen onslaught. She was able to keep him grounded and speak truth to the power of his sex appeal. He was a New York success but if the new songs took off then he could be a big deal across the nation. Jug was aware that if that happened things would change. He wouldn’t be able to third wheel Archie and Veronica’s life forever and that made him feel scared.

One Friday morning a couple of weeks after she first appeared he arrived to find everyone in the kitchen. “Get in here Jughead. Betty baked cupcakes for us,” Kevin yelled. He was either on a sugar high or his dreams of establishing a vibe cult were coming true as everyone bonded over baked goods. If he was offering Koolaid Jug wasn’t drinking. He sidled in on the basis that being the one loner who didn’t participate drew more focus. She handed him a yellow frosted cake decorated like a hive with a little sugar bee. 

“Bee for Betty,” he observed quietly and Kevin turned and stared at him.

“Oh right. B for Betty. I get it. Smart.” 

Jughead took his cupcake and a paper napkin and retreated to the second favourite desk. It was a truly epic cupcake. He kept looking at the crumbs on the napkin all morning. She was pretty and she was clever and she knew how to bake. He really didn’t want to develop a pathetic crush on this girl so he told himself that cupcakes were a symbolic manifestation of an empty bourgeois con. All frosting, no substance, artifice masquerading as food. He didn’t need her to like him. There were girls who liked him if he wanted a girl. They were attracted by the outsider persona, the motorbike and the gang tattoo on his bicep. The problem was that he found maintaining that role for them exhausting. A snarl is a tough expression to keep up for long, so his relationships, if that’s what they were, tended to be brief. He’d feel tired at the thought of seeing them, he’d make excuses, they’d get frustrated and dump him, he’d feel nothing but relief. He really couldn’t let himself catch feels, as JB would say, for this girl. She wouldn’t even want to be seen with him. He decided to go out and get some lunch, smoke a cigarette and clear his head but when he got back an hour later he found a second cupcake on his desk. She’d written “A B 4 J” in Sharpie on the napkin. For a moment his stupid, soft heart thumped but then he realised what must have happened. She’d given out another round of cakes while he’d been out and she liked to be fair so she’d left one on his desk. Dumb to think she’d single him out. Why the hell would she do that? He looked over and gave her a little salute, a finger to his forehead, before opening his laptop and getting back to work. Weirdly, he thought, she looked disappointed. He’d probably done something wrong but who could tell what it was?

The next Friday she baked and decorated cookies that looked like little bluebirds. B for bluebird he guessed. He was looking forward to bonobo week. He almost ignored the huddle in the kitchen and went straight to his desk but the cupcakes had been good, notwithstanding his ideological objections, and he didn’t want to be even weirder than normal so he edged in and she leaned over and passed him the cookie along with a napkin and he said “Thanks,” and ambled off to his desk. It was a practically painless social interaction. After lunch there was a second cookie which was weird because he’d only gone out for a smoke and hadn’t been gone more that ten minutes. He shrugged off the confusion and tried another smile at her in thanks. She seemed confused so he held up the cookie and licked his lips theatrically like a total douche. Just at that moment she knocked over her coffee cup and had to rush off to fetch a mop but as she passed his desk she gave him a flustered smile and it felt like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. 

He found that he had started to watch her. He didn’t mean to. He’d suddenly realise that he was looking at the way the sunlight lit up her hair. He noticed that her water bottle was painted with sunflowers. There was a sticker of a sunflower on her laptop too. He indulged himself with a disconcertingly uncharacteristic daydream of bringing her huge armfuls of sunflowers and her, melting into his arms and kissing him in thanks. Christ he’d be writing for Harlequin if this carried on. “Melting” for fuck’s sake. Of course if he ever did something like that she’d probably thank him with a restraining order. He wondered what she was writing. He’d thought maybe some lifestyle book about discovering your inner passion or power or purpose or something but that didn’t seem exactly right. Maybe recipes? 

One morning he noticed that she wasn’t at the desk. Her bag was there but no Betty. To his consternation he found he didn’t like it. Later he saw her emerge from one of the private meeting rooms with an older woman who seemed to be recovering from a crying jag. Betty had a comforting hand on her shoulder and was leaning forward to look into her downcast face. The woman smiled at Betty and shook her head gently and Betty walked her out of the building. When she returned to her desk some time later he saw that her hand shook when she opened her laptop but she pulled back her shoulders, tightened her ponytail and began to type. He very much wanted to know what she was working on. They’d have to be quite the recipes to make a nice elderly lady shed so many tears.

He was dragging a slice of last night’s leftover pizza in Saran wrap from the refrigerator when he became aware of someone behind him. “Is that your lunch?” her voice was concerned rather than judgemental.

“I’m ideologically opposed to food waste. And cooking,” he answered with a quick grin. 

She reached across him with a wafting scent of cinnamon and warm cookies. “I made way too much salad. Share with me?” 

“Salad. That’ll be like veggies right?” He wasn’t really on board with the whole plant based movement but he didn’t want to be rude. 

“Just try it. Open yourself up to new experiences Jughead. You might be surprised.” She smiled and proceeded to fix him a plate from her plastic container. He had no idea what he was eating but it was good despite her admitting that it contained both lentils and kale. There were olives and almonds and cheese too which set the balance somewhat right. As they ate she helped him to make conversation and he almost forgot how hard he normally found that.

“How’s the book coming?” he asked.

“It’s hard. I’m on a tight deadline and the material is...challenging. Don’t ask.” She anticipated his inquisitive look. “Not a meal time subject. Anyway, what about yours? Not your first rodeo, right?”

“This is my third. The deadlines are always tight. If the publisher wants it they want it right away. It’s going well I think, not easy but... Sometimes they write themselves and sometimes you have to wrangle them but I think the ones you have to wrestle with turn out better. Are you living in Brooklyn?”

“Mhm hmm. I was in New Haven for college and I was hoping to get a teaching job but you need to be published to get tenure. Then my cousin and her wife decided to open a restaurant here and needed childcare in the evenings and some weekends. So I moved in with them and I take care of the kids when they’re at work. No rent to pay, days free to write. If it gets good reviews I can get back to a college someplace.”

“Wow, that’s like a real life plan. Goals and stuff. I’m always on the back foot, trying to slow down everything changing. How are you liking big city life?”

“It’s fine. I’m enjoying spending time with the kids. I suppose I’m just a bit lonely. Cheryl and Toni are so busy. I don’t really get to socialise much.”

Jughead thought for a moment about how he could help. He had a flash of inspiration. “Hey, I can help with that.” She looked pleased to hear that so he ploughed on. “I’ll introduce you to Veronica. She knows everyone. She’ll help you find your tribe.” 

Oddly the smile seemed to become a little forced. “Oh no Jughead. I don’t want to third wheel you and your girlfriend. I do that quite enough with Cheryl and Toni.”

He laughed explosively. “No, Veronica’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend’s girl and my best girl friend. If you see what I mean. You’ll really like her.” He thought she seemed just a little sad when she agreed. Maybe it was because she thought the weirdo was pitying her.

He got V to come by a few days later and made the introductions. The New York native immediately began to plan outings for them both. Jug let them get on with bonding in the break out zone while he went back to his chapter with the idea that he had done a kind thing and he felt pretty good about it.

Veronica and Betty became a team almost at once. They went shopping together which involved a lot of milky coffee followed by deciding which lipstick they hated least followed by mojitos. That seemed a lot of work for lipstick that looked, like all the other lipstick, either red or pink. V told him they were going to Kevin’s drag night which made his jaw drop. How the hell did he not know that was a thing? “I don’t know Jug, maybe you don’t seem like a glitter and show tunes kind of guy,” V responded when he complained about being out of the loop. V went to Betty’s place and met the twins that she looked after. She told him that the relationships seemed complicated. Cheryl and Toni were apparently fierce and fabulous and the restaurant was iconic. It was strange that he felt jealous even though he didn’t particularly want to go shopping or to drag nights or meet ten year olds.

He was curious about Betty’s work. Every few days she’d have an interview with some random person. Sometimes his ex gang member’s intuition prickled with the certainty that they were a cop or even a fed but sometimes it was an older person, once a tough looking dude with tattoos on his face. She’d come out of these meetings with her notebook, determined but shaken and look at her dancing sunflower and start typing. She’d said the material was challenging and not appropriate for mealtime so it was definitely not a recipe book. Sometimes he tried to get a glimpse of the papers around her laptop but she had that prized corner desk which meant there was no excuse to pass by. She packed everything away carefully even if she was only going for coffee. One evening they were the last two in the space as darkness fell and the local bars started to fill up. He looked over and suspected from the hunch of her shoulders that she was either crying or about to. Part of him wanted to grab his bag and run away but another, stronger part wanted to help. He went over and stood by her desk. “Look, tell me to get lost if you like but, maybe, it might help to talk about it. I’m a bad talker but I’m a pretty good listener.” She looked up, dashing away tears before they fell with the back of her hand. 

“It’s just the book. It’s getting to me today. I’m a forensic psychologist. My specialism is abnormal psychology. Mainly I investigate the origin of deviance in individuals who exhibit extreme aggression. So I’m writing about commonalities in the development of those who go on to kill, why they do what they do. Everyday I look at pictures of monsters before they were monsters and try to work out where everything went wrong. They were kids once Jughead, and something awful happened, and then it just kept happening. No one would choose that for themselves. So I feel sorry for them and then I learn more about what they did to other people and I hate that I feel for them and then...where does it all stop?”

“I’m sorry. It sounds rough. What made you decide to write about this?”

“My dad. Look, do you want to hear this? It’s pretty dark.”

“I can handle it,” he assured her.

“My dad was a killer, his cousin, Cheryl’s dad, was a killer. My father killed a lot of people, his cousin shot his own son in the head. Some people think it’s in the blood, in the genes. I need to know how to stop it. The twins...” Her eyes were full of pain and unshed tears and Jug’s arms ached with effort of not holding her close to himself. She explained how she’d been working at the apartment she shared with Cheryl, Toni and the twins but that she’d come into her room one day to find ten year old Juniper with the files spread out all around her. She had started at the co-working space the next day and kept her files locked when she was at home.

It all sounded like a lot. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage Betts but would a hug help?” he asked. “Am I being a creep?"

She smiled even as the tears began to fall silently. “I’m well aware that you aren’t making a move on me Jughead,” and so he wrapped his arms round her as she cried into his shoulder. It felt so good that he wondered if, despite his protestations, he was taking advantage of this crying girl. His flannel was still wet when he got home an hour later. The next day they exchanged smiles and he even brought her a coffee, cream and sugar, when he made his.

Things changed a little at work. Some days they chatted in the breakout space over their coffee. He teased her about the dancing sunflower and the stickers and she tried to explain. “I know it’s silly but the twins bought it for me with their allowance. I spend so much time in the darkness Jug. It’s hard to remember joy and silliness and light. You know sunflowers face the sun, they turn around with it. So that little sunflower just reminds me that not everything is death and darkness and hopelessness, that I can choose to face the light. Like the baking. We can just add sweetness to our lives if we want to, if we make just a little effort.”

“More than a little effort Betts. Those bluebirds were a work of art.”

“They were bluejays Jug. Bluejays for a blue J.” He swallowed hard. It was so kind of her to notice him. 

For some reason V kept asking him to come with her to watch movies at Betty’s place or to help Betty move some furniture. As he pointed out he had movies at his place and if furniture needed moving he wouldn’t deprive Arch of the opportunity to take off his shirt and demonstrate his pecs. One Saturday V was on his case to come and watch Archie’s gig. “V why the hell are you so keen for me to leave the apartment lately? Are you planning a heist while the place is empty or something? I’ve heard Archie’s set and I don’t have the ovaries for it to work on me.”

“Please Jughead. I honestly think you might have a good time. Come on. Just this once. Don’t be a grinch.” she wheedled. Eventually he gave in to the whining and agreed to come for an hour. He regretted the choice almost immediately. He was sweating and uncomfortable as soon as he walked through the door. It was crowded and overheated and too loud for conversation. He peeled off his flannel and tied it round his waist as he made his way forward to where he expected to find Veronica only to come to a startled halt when he realised she was with Betty. 

“Torombolo, look, it’s Betty! She decided to come and hear Archie play. Isn’t that sweet of her? She had to get a sitter and everything. Here, you come and keep her company while I check Archie has everything he needs.” Jug was confused. If Archie needed something he’d just come and get it. It wasn’t The Bowery Ballroom, it was a bar in Brooklyn. Betty was looking at him oddly but then seemed to regroup and smiled, shifting over in the booth. Perhaps she’d been hoping for girl talk with V. He sat down next to her awkwardly. He wasn’t prepared to see her; he hadn’t thought of topics of conversation or anything. 

“Hi Jug. It’s good to see you outside work.”

“Yeah. Um don’t go falling in love with Archie will you? Apparently he’s pretty much irresistible when he’s on stage. You’ll have to guard your heart,” he warned. For some reason he really didn’t want this particular girl to crush on Andrews, at all.

“I wouldn’t dream of looking at Veronica’s boyfriend like that,” she protested, scandalised that he’d think she’d do such a thing.

“No, I don’t mean...it’s just people always fall in love with him. He’s easy to love.” Unlike me, he thought but didn’t say.

“I think my heart is perfectly safe from him Jug,” she smiled back at him. He felt reassured and when Ronnie came back they were deep in conversation about the latest true crime podcast to dominate the nation’s commute time. Archie played his set and then came and joined them. Drinks were taken. He excused himself to go outside for a smoke and Betty offered to come and keep him company. Out in the street as he inhaled she reached out and ran her fingertip over his tattoo. “Tell me about this Jug,” she asked, as he reeled from the sparks that her touch sent through his whole body.

“Oh you don’t want my sob story. Turn towards the light, right?”

“But this is about light. Look at you, successful, well educated, an intellectual, an artist. You’re a success story.” She was still touching his arm, thoughtfully, as she spoke. So he told her about his dad’s drinking, his arrest, being down and out, finding a home with the Serpents, about surviving at any cost until a full ride scholarship at NYU got him the hell out of there. “Like I said it’s not a dark story. It’s about redemption,” she said when he’d finished.

Listen to you,” he laughed, breaking the mood when it became too intense, “therapizing me. I’m the rebel without a cause, you’ll have me all friendly and well balanced if you carry on like this.” 

“Jones, that didn’t take therapy. You’re a kitten in a drainpipe. I just offered you food until you came out and let me pet you.” Her fingers were, indeed, still tracing the serpent on his bicep. It felt more than friendly. He really didn’t understand what was going on. If she was any other girl he’d know this was a move. If he wanted her he’d put his hand behind her head and lean in and kiss her. He’d take her home with him and be a gentleman, make sure she came first, make her breakfast, promise to call her, really want to when he said it but then when he did call her he’d feel bored and trapped and tired and stressed until he got her to call it off. He did want her. But he didn’t want where it would inevitably lead. He didn’t want to see her disappointed in him, baking penis shaped cookies for the office and saying as she offered him one, “A dick for a dick.” She couldn’t want that either, obviously. She’d had a few drinks he reasoned, maybe she got flirty under the influence. He needed to protect her from herself, see that she got home safe and sound and not give her the chance to throw herself at anyone less scrupulous than him. 

“Well OK then Betts. It’s been a great evening. What say we get you an Uber and send you home to those twins hey?” He took hold of her fingers and removed them from his arm. The soft smile that had been on her lips disappeared. She looked hurt. He’d hurt her. “Hey Betts, we’ve all had a couple of drinks. No harm no foul right? It’s all good.”

“Jug, I’m so sorry. I thought…Well never mind what I thought. Yes please, an Uber sounds great. I’ll just go get my jacket.” When she came out he thought that maybe she was trying not to cry and he didn’t know what to say. Then V was outside too.

“You don’t need to wait Jones. I’ll see B home,” she told him in what he thought of as her attorney voice.

“I don’t mind…” he began.

“Well we do. Go home.” So apparently he was the dick for trying not to be a dick, for trying to take care of a girl that he really liked. How did that make him the bad guy?

“Fine. See you Monday Betts.” He turned to walk away and had the terrible feeling that he heard a sob. He certainly wasn’t going to turn around to see that.

When he got up the next morning Archie was doing chin ups on the kitchen door frame while Veronica sat at the counter in a silk robe scrolling through her phone. “Man talk,” she said decisively as Jug headed for the coffee, shooting a look in Archie’s direction and swooshing out towards the bathroom. Archie waited for the water to start running in the shower before coming to sit down opposite Jug. 

“Betty.” Arch said. Jug flushed and started to shuffle in his seat. 

“Arch, man, I was honestly trying to do the right thing. I don’t really see how I’m the bad guy here.”

“Well, I’m not used to this at all but I’m going to school you for a change. First of all if you aren’t interested in her then you’re not a dick, you’re a great guy who deserves some respect.”

“Right, that’s what I’m…” Jug began.

“IF you aren’t interested in her. But I think you like her. Maybe even like her a lot. And if you like her then you are, in fact, a dick. Because she put herself out there, took a risk and you didn’t have her back. Like the rope swing.” Jug got the analogy. When they were kids there was a rope at the swimming hole. You’d push off holding the rope and jump off into the deepest water. Sometimes though the swing would take the wrong trajectory and you’d miss the deep water and you’d be over the shallows with no way to get back to dry land, too shallow to jump in, too far from land to get off. So they’d learned that you needed a buddy to spot for you, to push you the right way so you didn’t end up just clinging to the rope until you fell off onto rocks and banged yourself up. Betty had pushed off, trusting him to be there to keep her safe and he’d let her fall onto sharp rocks and get hurt. He actually was a dick.

“But I thought she was most likely drunk. She can’t like me. Like me, like me I mean. She’s beautiful and she’s really smart. She’s got a degree from Yale. She’s going to be a professor some day. She can do way better than me.” Archie looked at him appraisingly.

“Dude, let’s not make a habit of this but I am going to tell you why I love you. You’re the smartest guy I know. You raised yourself. You’re brave and righteous and you know exactly who you are. You would die for me and I would die for you. You’re my brother, not because we have the same parents but because I choose you to be my brother. You forgive the dumb shit I do and say and you always help me to do better. If you want Betty then she is lucky to get you. And Betty drank one glass of wine. She was on seltzer water the rest of the night.” 

Jug put his head in his hands. “I’m a dick.” Then he looked up at his friend, his brother. “I love you too man. You know that right?” Arch reached across the table and rubbed his fist over Jug’s head. “What am I meant to do now? What did she say about me to Veronica?”

“Veronica would never betray a confidence,” she said from the doorway, her hair wrapped in a huge fluffy towel. “But if a man ever made me so sexually frustrated with his tattoos and his knock off James Dean personality that I cried all the way home in an Uber I would be irritated if he kept me waiting. That’s a totally hypothetical statement.”

“Sexually frustrated, over me?” He was so confused right now.

“Must be a kink. Not gonna shame it. Not even when it’s you, Torombolo.”

He threw out his hands in surrender. “Guys, help me. Tell me what to do. I’m smitten like the proverbial kitten. This doesn’t happen to me.” 

Veronica said he needed a grand gesture but that it needed to be personal, specific to Betty. “For me Tiffany’s and brunch at the Waldorf Astoria. An envelope with plane tickets to Paris.” Archie gulped nervously. “For Betty, if you deserve her then you ought to know.”

_________________________________________________

“I might buy it,” she said decisively, pushing the auction catalogue across the breakfast table. 

“Buy what?” His mouth was full of french toast. Had she waited until he was unable to talk her out of something imprudent? He hoped he wasn’t mean but he didn’t waste money on things that didn’t matter. He’d always calculate what the money could do for someone in need and weigh that against what he was doing with it. His bike was expensively maintained but his clothes were functional and basic. 

“That,” she pointed to the page. It was a desk, mid twentieth century, Y shaped in dark, glossy wood, possibly walnut. There were drawers and storage in the base of the Y and the two limbs were cantilevered airily. It was a beautifully designed thing. “It’s a partner’s desk. Vladimir Kagan made it for his own design office in the ‘50s. It’d look great in the new place.”

He grinned and swallowed his mouthful. “What’s the expression? You’re either in your sheets or your shoes so spend well on them. We’re either in sheets or at a desk. Let’s go Dutch on it.”

The day it was delivered to the new house he was at a literary festival in Maine. He got home the next day when she was lecturing so he let himself in and wandered into the study. It did look great. She’d chosen her side and she’d put out her dancing sunflower and the framed photo of him when he won the National Book Award for “Bluejays and Cardinals” the previous November. She said she liked it because only she noticed that he was wearing work boots with the suit instead of dress shoes and only she knew that his jacket lining had Che printed all over it.

He went back into the kitchen to search for a vase. He hadn’t paid attention when they were unpacking and he came up empty but he found a water jug that would do the job and he put the sunflowers he’d bought on the way back from the airport in water. He found a cork mat to stand the jug on and put them on her side of the desk. 

After he’d unpacked, he picked up his favourite photo of her from his nightstand and went back into the study with his laptop. He took his side of the desk and stared at the picture. She stood, smiling, in a field of sunflowers. She was wearing the yellow shorts that still made him a little crazy. Her arms were stretched out in joy behind her, as if she were trying to embrace the whole field of blooms. He remembered how scared he’d been, standing outside her building in Brooklyn that day, waiting for her to come down so he could apologise, waiting to see if she’d let him try again. He’d asked her for the day, for them to take those few hours to see if they could be something. Archie and Veronica had appeared to take the kids to the Waterfront to ride the carousel and she’d shrugged and agreed to go with him. He’d driven them out of the city in a rental car. He would have liked to have her behind him on the bike but then they couldn’t have talked. He kept trying to tell her how sorry he was and how much he cared about her and why he’d been such a douche. Eventually as they pulled into the sunflower farm she stopped him. “Jug, this is great to hear and everything and I am very much into all this emotional availability that you are offering but I’m half crazed with lust. Are you planning to put out at all today? I’m struggling to focus until I know.” Which was when he kissed her. There was an awkward tussle in the rented car as his hands tangled themselves in her hair and his mouth seemed to descend on hers as if drawn by some kind of irresistible force. Her hands were on the back of his neck urging him deeper into the kiss, she was clambering over the central console into his lap, he couldn’t stop a hand moving down to her breast when he heard an outraged voice outside the car yelling ”Come here kids, don’t look. Oh my god. Have some self control.” They flew apart, both flushed scarlet with passion and embarrassment. 

There were the fields of sunflowers, there was the look in her eyes when he fished his knife out of his pocket to cut the stems of the ones she chose, there were passionate open mouthed kisses against the back of the barn. He couldn’t imagine how the hell he was going to get through a meal and then drive back to the city given the state of arousal he found himself in. Then she looked into his eyes and said “Let’s skip the restaurant and order room service instead.”

And now, sitting at the antique desk in the house he’d bought with her, he loved her and wanted her even more than he had that day when everything began. He heard her key in the lock and stood to greet her. “Honey I’m home!” she called.

“In the study.”

“Isn’t it great? Do you love it?” She was in the doorway, smiling.

“It’s great, you’re great and I love you.” 

“Oh sunflowers. Thank you Juggie. They’re beautiful. How was the reading? Did you hate it?”

“No, it was actually ok. They were nice about the book.”

“You sound surprised. They aren’t going to invite you if they hate the book. Everyone loves that book.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her until she began to moan deep in her throat. He lived for that moan. “Let’s test this cantilevering,” he said lifting her and sitting her on the desk.

“Wait, hold that thought, stop everything,”she said and he took a step back in confusion. She stood and gathered the jug of flowers, the photographs and his laptop and placed them all on the bookshelf, out of harm’s way. “Expensive desk Juggie” she explained shoving him back against the desk, sitting in the desk chair and and pulling herself towards him by his belt loops. As he’d learned that first day in the Long Island hotel room, there was much more to his Betty than sunshine and flowers. Her fingers made quick work of his belt. “Shirt Jug,” she murmured. 

“Shirt yourself woman. I’m not some sex object you know.” He protested playfully, still reaching behind himself and pulling his shirt off over his head.

“You’re my sex object. Do as you’re told.” she relied saucily, unbuttoning her blouse as she spoke. Then her hands were on his chest, teasingly stroking lightly towards his waistband and then back up, over his nipples and up to his collarbones. He leaned back against the desk and let his head fall backwards as he revelled in her touch. He reached out and stroked a fingertip along the lace of her bra and she exhaled through open lips. She was unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down and he toed off his boots and stepped out of them, pulling at her bra strap petulantly as he did so. She obliged him by pushing her shirt off her shoulders and unfastening her bra. He pulled it from her, eager to take her breasts in his hands, and now everything seemed to slow as she pushed down his boxers and took him in her hand. “Oh how I missed you,” she murmured.

“Are you talking to me or my dick?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Shhh, private conversation,” she replied and took him in her mouth as he gasped and grabbed the desk with both hands so as not to fall backwards with the intensity of it. She knew exactly how to touch him to make him lose his mind, her hand on him, her mouth hot around him, all of his consciousness focussed just on that, the humming noise that she made in her throat to intensify the sensation and him trying not to thrust, unable to stop himself grabbing her hair, holding her head when he couldn’t take anymore, remembering to warn her.

“Betts, I’m...Betts.” She didn’t pull off. Christ he loved her so much.

When he’d recovered himself enough he was grabbing her shoulders, turning her so she was on the desk, pulling off her skirt, her underwear, desperate for her, gasping and panting to get to her. When he touched her he felt like he was home at last. He stroked her as she smiled at him, loving that she could make him so crazy for her. Then he put his mouth on her and she cried out and lay back on the desk. His hand on her breast, his mouth on her, in their home, in the room where they would work together at their desk. He was so happy and he wanted her to understand that by the way he touched her. He brought one of his fingers to stroke her, dipping inside her until she began to cry out with each thrust, his lips on her, sometimes releasing to nip a little at her inner thigh, enough that there would be a tiny mark to remember him by. Then, as her hips began to raise up, searching for more resistance he put the flat of his hand on her pelvic bone, pushing her down onto his mouth and she was saying “yes yes yes, oh I love you, love, love.” And he could feel her flutter against his fingers as he grinned up at her. She blinked at him, propping herself up on an elbow. “Welcome home Mr Cooper-Jones.”

“Why thank you Ms Cooper-Jones. Good to be home.”

Archie and Veronica arrived for dinner that evening, eager to inspect the new house. Betty gave the full tour, leaving the study until last. “And here it is, the Vladimir Kagan desk. Isn’t it gorgeous?” The flowers, the photographs, the computers were all in their rightful places now.

“Well, it’s a lovely thing. You have great taste B. Other than the obvious of course,” said Veronica with a nod at Jug. “And no more hot desking.”

Jug snorted and looked at his boots, Betty flushed pink. V looked from one to the other.

“Eww, you didn’t. Not on a piece of classic mid century design. You’re animals. Get me out of here. I need a cleansing aperitif.”


End file.
